Black Men, It’s Okay to Love Each Other
- Ruby N Lewis
- May 26
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 3
By PDDBM
There’s a silent crisis in our community. It's a wound passed down through generations. This wound is buried under the weight of survival, pride, and pain. It's the inability, or rather the fear, to simply say the words: “I love you.”
For many Black men, expressing love—especially to another man—has become something foreign. Saying “I love you” to a son, father, brother, or friend has been avoided. Somewhere, along the line, love became synonymous with weakness. Affection became suspect. Vulnerability became shameful.
The Pain Passed Down
This reality is killing us. Recently, I was struck by a moment in Gordon Ramsay’s new FOX show "Secret Service." At The Pantheon Restaurant in Chevy Chase, DC, a 70-something-year-old father revealed that he’s never told his son “I love you.” Ramsay, visibly emotional, shared that he tells his sons those words frequently. He understands the weight of growing up without hearing them.
This narrative extends beyond one father and one son. It embodies the experience of countless families. Too many of our boys grow up never hearing “I love you.” They never receive a hug from their fathers. They rarely witness two Black men embrace without suspicion. Why does this happen?
The legacy of slavery, Jim Crow, segregation, and systemic racism has conditioned us to believe that affection among men signifies weakness. We are still living with Post-Traumatic Slave Syndrome—the inherited trauma that teaches us not to trust, not to feel, and not to express.
The silence between fathers and sons and among brothers is not natural. It’s learned. We must unlearn this behavior before it costs us another generation. Dr. Joy DeGruy, who coined the term, reminds us that slavery robbed us of healthy emotional expression. For over 400 years, Black men suppressed their humanity to survive. They felt compelled to avoid crying, grieving, or showing tenderness, fearing it could be seen as a sign of weakness or rebellion. That emotional repression, meant to protect us, is now harmful.
The Weight on Our Mental Health
When love is withheld, wounds fester. The absence of emotional expression leads to broken relationships, distant fathers, internalized pain, and silent suffering. Too many Black men walk this earth angry, guarded, and disconnected. They do feel, but they have never been shown how to safely express what they feel.
A Huffington Post article titled "Black Men, You Don’t Have to Be Strong All the Time" captures this struggle. It states, “Many of us have been raised to believe that our masculinity is dependent on our toughness, our ability to suppress our emotions and deny our pain.” (Huffington Post)
Unaddressed pain festers into various issues: alcoholism, rage, abandonment, depression, and even violence. Unfortunately, these issues often get passed down through generations. We become fathers who don’t know how to be present. Friends who can’t provide emotional support. Sons who feel unseen.
In a world where Black men face challenges like over-policing and underemployment, emotional disconnection becomes another burden. This predicament is not merely personal; it is a public health crisis. The suicide rate among Black boys and men has been steadily rising. According to the CDC, suicide rates among Black youth rose by 60% between 2001 and 2017. We cannot discuss mental health in the Black community without addressing the absence of love and affirmation among our men.
Remembering Who We Are
In West African culture, love between men—agape—is sacred. It is neither questioned nor hidden; it is honored. In those villages, men raise each other’s children. They mourn, laugh, and pray together. Love transcends being just a feeling; it is a principle rooted in communalism. We must be our brother’s keeper.
West African societies rely on communal living. The concept of "ubuntu"—I am because we are—captures how intertwined our destinies are. Love, in this context, is not romantic; it is revolutionary. It emphasizes honoring each other’s humanity, protecting one another’s dignity, and building systems of mutual support.
In these cultures, extended families raise children together. Men prepare meals collectively. Elders impart wisdom and affirmation to the youth. Crying, hugging, and expressing gratitude are free from shame. That was our way before slavery. And it can be our way again.
We are not starting from zero. We are reclaiming what was taken from us.
We’ve Done It Before
Every time we come together in unity, we demonstrate that our love for each other still exists. Historical milestones like Black Wall Street, the Civil Rights Movement, the National Black Political Convention, Black Lives Matter, Juneteenth celebrations, HBCU Homecomings, Black churches, and Black fraternity brotherhoods showcase what collective love looks like.
Here are some significant events that symbolize Black unity:
Black Wall Street (Greenwood District, Tulsa, OK): A thriving center of Black business and culture before its destruction in 1921, showcasing what we can achieve through collective investment.
Civil Rights Movement (1950s-1960s): Black men and women marching side by side for dignity and justice.
National Black Political Convention (1972): Thousands of leaders united in Gary, Indiana, to establish a political agenda centered on unity.
HBCU Homecomings: These gatherings foster shared pride, mentorship, and love across generations.
Juneteenth Celebrations: Marking emancipation and celebrating culture, family, and freedom—providing sacred times for unity.
Black Greek Letter Organizations: Brotherhood in its purest form, fostering service, legacy, and mentorship.
Black Love Day (founded by Mama Ayo Handy-Kendi): A day dedicated to healing relationships and expressing love actively.
We have always been capable of love. Now, we just need to work harder to preserve it.
Representation and Art as Healing
Media plays a crucial role in shaping our self-perception. For instance, the film The Last Black Man in San Francisco tells a hauntingly beautiful story of love between two Black male friends—not romantic, but profoundly emotional. The film breaks traditional masculinity norms by showcasing intimacy, pain, and longing without fear of misinterpretation. An article in Hyperallergic highlights how this film presents Black male intimacy as compassionate and restorative—not dangerous or deviant. (Hyperallergic)
We need more narratives like this. We need to see Black men express emotions freely. We need to hear them say "I love you" without hesitation. We must allow ourselves to be emotionally, mentally, and spiritually supported by one another.
The Call to Action
Change may not be immediate, but we can alter how we treat each other.
Tell your son you love him. Hug your brother. Check on your friend. Tell him you're proud. Allow yourself to cry if needed. Share laughter. Pray together. Speak positivity into one another. Stop tearing each other down. Refrain from treating your brother as competition or a threat. You are him. He is you.
We face enough challenges from the outside. Let’s not create more within our own community.
We Are Black. We Are Love.
Saying “I love you” does not make you soft; it signifies strength and healing. You are whole. You break generational curses. We do not embody our trauma or oppression. We are the descendants of kings, warriors, teachers, healers, and architects of civilization.
Let us walk with this truth. Let us love fiercely, openly, and unapologetically.
Because united we stand, divided we fall. And we have fallen long enough.
Let’s rise.
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