When I’m cruising around the social media, I never hear these niggas say ‘Pro Black children.’ Never.

Why is that? Because that would require them to actually give a damn beyond running their mouths.

Everybody got a dissertation on being ‘pro-Black’ when it comes to policing women, arguing online, puffing their chest out, and performing outrage. Whole speeches. Whole podcasts. Whole personalities built on it. But let a Black child need something real—safety, stability, patience, guidance, a quiet place to learn, a full belly, a soft place to land—and suddenly it’s crickets and excuses.

Being pro-Black children ain’t loud. It ain’t sexy. It don’t get you likes. It don’t come with an audience. It’s in the day-to-day. It’s reading with them when you tired. It’s protecting them from grown folks’ chaos. It’s checking your ego at the door so you don’t break their spirit just because yours got broken. It’s making sure they learn how to think, not just how to survive.

But that kind of work? That requires discipline. That requires healing. That requires accountability. And a whole lot of people would rather perform Blackness than do the labor of loving Black children properly.

You can’t scream ‘pro-Black’ while ignoring the babies growing up in dysfunction you refuse to address.
You can’t talk about legacy while neglecting the very people who are supposed to carry it.

You can’t yell about respect while raising children in environments that don’t respect their humanity.

And let’s be real—some of y’all don’t want empowered Black children. You want controlled ones. Silent ones. Traumatized enough to obey but not healed enough to question you.

So no, I don’t hear ‘pro-Black children’ nearly enough. Because that phrase comes with responsibility. It demands consistency. It exposes hypocrisy.

And a lot of folks ain’t ready for that kind of mirror.