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Dear Kendrick Lamar (or Pastor K...or K Dot...or GOAT),
Thank you. Not just for performing, but for curating a moment so powerful, so intentional, that it transcended entertainment and became an offering—an opportunity for our people to engage in the kind of dialogue that stretches the mind and fortifies the soul.
You knew what you were doing. Every movement, every lyric, every visual choice was placed with precision, not just to entertain, but to provoke. To challenge. To remind us of who we are and what we must continue to build. At the biggest stage in the world, you refused to conform, refused to dilute, refused to cater to anything other than truth. And for that, we honor you.
You trusted us. You trusted that our community would not just watch but witness—that we would catch the layers, dissect the meaning, and allow it to ignite something deeper within us. You had faith that we would not only discuss but dare to debate, to sharpen each other, to examine our own beliefs in the presence of something undeniable. In a world that too often tells us to play it safe, you gave us permission to be bold, to ask the hard questions, to demand more from one another.
Yet, even within our own community, there are voices calling your performance boring, not entertaining enough, as if entertainment must always be loud, flashy, and digestible for the masses. To them, I say—decolonize your minds. Thought provocation is entertainment. The art of making people uncomfortable enough to confront themselves is a skill that too many have lost in an era of easy distractions and surface-level consumption. Your work is not for the passive. It is for the seekers, the ones willing to interrogate their own perspectives, the ones who understand that true liberation comes from discomfort.
And let’s be clear—the non-Black community is attacking this demonstration not because it lacked entertainment value, but because their comfort was not centered. They are unsettled because, for once, the stage was not theirs to control, not theirs to interpret, not theirs to feel safe within. That is exactly what we need in these times. We are no longer here to pacify the insecurities of their self-awareness, to shrink ourselves for their palatability. You reminded them—and us—that Black expression does not require their approval, and it NEVER did. That our voices, our stories, our truths are enough on their own, unfiltered and unapologetic.
The irony is almost laughable. The same white culture that has aggressively pushed for the removal of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) from our societal metrics is now outraged that there weren’t any white dancers in your ensemble. How convenient. How predictable. What does it say about a society that demands to be included in everything while simultaneously dismantling the very structures that ensure equity? If whiteness is so accustomed to omnipresence, then perhaps it should sit with the discomfort of its own absence and ask: Why does our identity feel threatened when we are not the focal point?
Black Man, we hear you. We see you. We accept the challenge.
So now, I turn to those reading this: What will you do with the spark Kendrick lit? Will you let it fade into just another performance, another fleeting moment? Or will you take this as a call to action—to dig deeper, to speak louder, to stand firmer in the truths that make us whole?
Kendrick, you did what artists are meant to do: You made us feel something real. And for that, we thank you.
With gratitude and resolve,
A Black Woman Paying Attention
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