Blackness real Blackness.

For decades, ‘Blackness’ has been a crucial political and cultural category that grounds a public discourse on cherishing a robust historical tradition and systemically uprooting white supremacy. As the term popularizes as a catch-all, however, so proliferate assumptions, narratives, and stereotypes that obscure the diversity of Black lived experiences.

In the US, Blackness was historically constructed as what sociologists call a “master status,” one in which any evidence of African ancestry defined one as “Black” and inferior, overriding all other individual traits and characteristics, erasing all differences between people labeled as Black.

Black inferiority was built into the formal and informal structure of U.S. society and American social cognition, both implicitly and explicitly. African Americans, of course, contested this status, as did some White people. Little progress was made until the Civil Rights era of the 1960s and 1970s, and by most measures we still have quite a way to go.

The US Black population has always been diverse, even while enslaved, and that diversity has only grown in recent decades. As Blacks entered into sectors of American society from which they had long been excluded, they sought to redefine their place in the emerging post-Civil Rights social order.

The Black middle class grew, and a new Black elite expanded. More recently, immigration from Africa and the Caribbean increased, as did rates of interracial partnering. There have also been modest steps toward the integration of schools and neighborhoods.

These sociodemographic shifts have increased and intensified intraracial diversity along the lines of race, class and gender, and also with respect to origins (mixed versus monoracial), immigrant generation (first, second, or multigenerational native), region of origin (parents from Africa, the Caribbean, or the US), segregation (childhood spent in Black, Mixed, or predominantly White settings), skin tone, and degree of exposure to disadvantaged circumstances.

The increasing diversity of the Black population in the US—and the manifold intersectionalities that result—is the subject of our research. Drawing on a representative, longitudinal survey of Black students at selective colleges and universities and dozens of in-depth interviews, we show how diversity along these lines conditions experiences and outcomes with respect to identity, upbringing, academics, social life, prejudice and discrimination, attitudes, stress and mental health, and ultimately academic achievement and attainment.

Despite all the foregoing diversity—far more, in fact, than amongst students of other races—respondents lamented a singular, static image of “Blackness” replete with negative stereotypes against which they were constantly judged, not only by faculty, strangers and their institutions, but by their peers as well. Our findings emphasize that there is no single, “authentic” Black identity or experience. Nonetheless, a true sense of racial solidarity exists in spite of great intragroup diversity, resulting from a shared experience of being reduced to outdated notions of Blackness.

If there is one thing we’d like to impress upon people, it is that, given the diversity among Black Americans today, any assumptions we make about the origins, experiences, and characteristics of someone we perceive as Black are likely to be wrong. This is true not only in our day-to-day interactions, but also for the design and execution of programs within and outside of higher education needed to promote and support today’s manifold diversities.

A lot of kind statements about black people are coming from the pens and minds of white people now. That's a good thing. But sometimes, it is frankly hard to tell the difference between expressions of solidarity and gestures of absolution (See, I’m not a racist, I said you matter!) Among the most difficult to swallow are social-media posts and notes that I and others have received expressing sorrow and implying that blackness is the most terrible of fates.

Their worrisome chorus: “I cannot imagine … How do you … My heart breaks for you … I know you are hurting … You may not think you matter but you matter to me.” Let me be clear: I certainly know I matter. Racism is terrible. Blackness is not.

I cannot remember a time in my life when I wasn’t earnestly happy about the fact of my blackness. When my cousins and I were small, we would crowd in front of the mirrors in my grandmother’s house, admiring our shining brown faces, the puffiness of our hair.

My elders taught me that I belonged to a tradition of resilience, of music that resonates across the globe, of spoken and written language that sings. If you’ve had the good fortune to experience a holiday with a large black American family, you have witnessed the masterful art of storytelling, the vitality of our laughter, and the everyday poetry of our experience.

The narrative boils down quite simply to this: “We are still here! Praise life, after everything, we are still here!” So many people taught us to be more than the hatred heaped upon us, to cultivate a deep self-regard no matter what others may think, say, or do. Many of us have absorbed that lesson and revel in it.

“More than profound issues, people of African descent experience joy and happiness,” “Learning directly from UN human rights mechanisms and instruments, and about the measures that States have to take, especially through the [Permanent Forum on People of African Descent], I realized the importance of civil society to push those tools – which is crucial to understand that we have so many issues to deal with but we have to keep our voices very loud.”