(ThyBlackMan.com) We don’t hate America. We built America. Brick by brick, cotton bale by cotton bale, invention by invention, we shaped this nation while it denied our humanity. Our ancestors sowed its fields, cleaned its houses, fought its wars, and fueled its economy. If we hated America, we would have left long ago—or let it collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy. But love and hate are not opposites here. The opposite of hate is trust, and trust is something America has never truly earned from Black folks.
Every generation of Black people has been asked to prove our patriotism. We’ve marched, bled, and died for freedoms we were rarely allowed to enjoy. From Crispus Attucks to the Tuskegee Airmen, our loyalty has been tested, questioned, and betrayed. The nation that celebrates “liberty and justice for all” has always added an invisible asterisk next to “for all.”
So, no—we don’t hate America. But we’ve learned to be cautious with a country that too often confuses our survival with its generosity.
Consider the No Kings rallies last week. Millions—Black, brown, white, young, and old—marched to reject creeping authoritarianism. The name said it plainly: No Kings. No man above the law. Yet critics dismissed the protests as “un-American,” “radical,” even “Marxist.” The Speaker of the House called demonstrators a “hate-America mob.”
That’s rich. What could be more American than dissent? What could be more patriotic than demanding that power answer to the people?
When Black people raise our voices, our love for this nation is called hatred. When Colin Kaepernick knelt to protest police violence, they said he disrespected the flag. When Fannie Lou Hamer said she was “sick and tired of being sick and tired,” they called her divisive. When today’s marchers chant “No Kings,” they’re labeled enemies of democracy—when, in fact, they’re its last defenders.
Our mistrust of America isn’t born of cynicism; it’s born of experience. From redlining to racial profiling, from voter suppression to environmental racism, this nation has given us every reason to be wary. Trust is not a constitutional guarantee—it’s a social contract. And America has broken that contract repeatedly.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., in Why We Can’t Wait, wrote that Black people had waited “more than three hundred years for our constitutional and God-given rights,” and that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.” He warned against the narcotic of gradualism—the idea that freedom would come “on the wheels of inevitability.” King’s words still sting because they still fit. We are still told to wait—wait for equity, wait for reform, wait for America to catch up with its conscience. But as King said, “This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off.”
Economically, the ledger is staggering. White wealth in the United States is roughly six to seven times that of Black wealth—a gap created by stolen labor, discriminatory lending, and a tax code tilted toward the comfortable. Black women, the backbone of this economy, still earn barely 64 cents for every dollar paid to white men. Yet we’re asked to believe in the fairness of a system designed to exclude us.
Politically, our votes are courted but our needs are often ignored. Every election season brings promises, yet when it’s time for legislation—on housing, healthcare, childcare, or reparations—the urgency fades. We don’t hate America for that inconsistency; we simply refuse to be naïve about it.
Still, we remain. We teach, write, vote, build, and dream. We raise our children to believe in possibility even as we teach them to be cautious. Our relationship with America is like that of a family member who keeps letting you down—you don’t walk away easily, but you stop lending them money without collateral.
The truest patriots are those willing to critique their country because they believe it can live up to its promise. Black people have always done that work. We’ve kept faith not in America’s perfection, but in its potential. That faith is not trust—it’s hope. And hope is far stronger than blind trust.
Let’s be clear: we don’t hate America, and we resent the accusation. We are the conscience of America. We march to keep it honest, not tear it down. We protest because protest is the path to transformation. We march because we understand that freedom is not free. Protest is the price we pay for a better society.
Trust must be earned. And in the words of 40th President Ronald Reagan, trust but verify. This administration has verified the many reasons we don’t trust our country. The hateful rhetoric toward protestors widens, not narrows the trust gap.
Written By Julianne Malveaux
Official website; http://www.juliannemalveaux.com/
