But let me say this plainly: divestment rhetoric, the idea that the village is dead and we must do it all on our own, misses something far larger than our individual experiences. I cannot erase your pain, nor would I presume to. But I also cannot let the false narratives about men and families go unchallenged.
Here’s the truth from my experience: boys in our communities have historically been neglected, not coddled. Too often, we see mothers say, “If you go to jail, I ain’t bailing you out,” while simultaneously allowing young men to navigate life without structure, guidance, or the tools to rise. These are the same boys who are later blamed for not being “ready” or “good enough,” while girls are pushed relentlessly to achieve—married by 25, children by 25, career by 25, house by 25. We are trained to rise, to be excellent, to navigate society’s hurdles with precision, yet the men around us were never equipped with the same guidance, opportunities, or socialization to meet these unrealistic expectations.
And let’s be honest: the expectations placed on young Black women are out of this world without a village to help sustain them. Many women become scholars, entrepreneurs, mothers, and caregivers while also trying to manage fractured systems of support for the men in their lives. Meanwhile, the men were rarely told the how. “Get off the games. Get a job. You gotta have money to get a woman.” That’s the extent of it. So when a young man turns to fast money, criminal activity, or risky behavior to meet societal pressures or to “provide,” we scold him instead of looking at the system that failed him first.
Women are pushed to be responsible, disciplined, educated, and resilient, while men are often neglected in guidance, mentorship, and family accountability. Then, when women grow frustrated, the rhetoric shifts: “Men can’t do anything right. The village is dead. I’m done.” It’s easy to fall into this, and the pain is real—but the narrative is incomplete.
The truth is, Black men as a collective were never set up to rise. Systems of oppression, economic disenfranchisement, educational neglect, mass incarceration, and social disinvestment have shaped their realities for generations. So expecting men to show up fully without the structural and familial support to guide them is unrealistic,,,and telling women they must bear the burden alone is equally dangerous.
I’ve also seen another consequence of divestment rhetoric: some women turn their backs on men entirely, even changing sexual preferences or distancing themselves from potential partners, only to encounter the same neglect, misunderstanding, and lack of support from the women they align with. In essence, they exchange one form of isolation for another. The pain and frustration are understandable, but the cycle continues because the underlying truths are ignored.
So, what is the answer? In my view, it is still the village. It is still investment, guidance, and the labor of love that sustains families and communities. It is educating the boys, supporting the girls, and holding everyone accountable. It is showing young men how to rise, while empowering women to do the same, without casting blame but acknowledging history and systemic failures.
I will not pretend that the journey is easy. I know the frustration, the exhaustion, the desire to divest completely. But to declare the village dead is to miss the opportunity to rebuild it, strategically and intentionally. We cannot abandon our history, nor the people who have been conditioned to fail by circumstances beyond their control. Instead, we equip, we teach, and we rise together—women and men—while holding boundaries and demanding excellence.
Pain is real. Frustration is real. But truth is greater. The village is not dead. It has been tested, strained, and fractured—but it can be restored. And if Black women are truly going to thrive, we must see beyond the immediate hurt to the generational work that must be done.
We cannot do it alone. None of us can. And history proves it.
—Leata
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