On my list of those invited to “the cookout,” there is exactly one answer: Black people. When pressed on the issue, I explain that my definition of “Black people” is anyone who identifies as a congregant of the African Diaspora. Whether that person is from South Carolina, South America, or South Africa—if they are a card-carrying member of the diaspora, they are automatically granted entry.
My position on this is firm. If we aren’t allowed to find rest from the White gaze, even in a fictional sense, what hope do we have to find peace while here on Earth? Y’all saw what happened in Black Panther (Disney’s idea of a fictional Shangri-La for members of the African Diaspora) when them White folks visited? They came in trying to look in T’Challa’s pots, open Shuri’s refrigerator and lay on Queen Ramonda’s bed with their outside clothes on. The nerve! But lest you think I’m doing all this gatekeeping to troll, let me explain my insistence. I believe my defending of the fictional cookout has real-world implications.
I am a community organizer who works in historically excluded and majority-Black neighborhoods in the cities of Charleston and North Charleston, South Carolina. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when a community is not developed for the people who live there. It gets labeled as blighted and promptly devalued. I’m not just referring to outside agitators, people who live in communities without amenities tend to think less of their own neighborhoods as well. Most people think that crime is the largest issue facing communities like these. While it can be an issue; it’s usually limited to a few specific streets. On a larger scale, “lack” is the main culprit. Not having resources gives crime an opportunity to flourish. Not having places that lend themselves to building community and, quite frankly, to just relax is what separates the “bad” part of town from the good one. In short, it’s all about amenities.
Majora Carter, an urban revitalization strategy consultant, writes about this in her book, “Reclaiming Your Community: You Don’t Have to Move Out of Your Neighborhood to Live in a Better One.” Our entire lives we’ve been programmed to believe that the ice of our palm-colored brothers and sisters is colder than anything we can find in our own neighborhood, leading us to define success not by what you do for your own community but by how close you can get to White spaces. Black people work out, drink coffee, and read books yet, in many of our communities, there is a lack of fitness studios, coffee shops, and bookstores. Black people who do try to insert these third spaces where one can build community outside of their job and residences, often do so without the same level of financial backing that White-led businesses receive. This means shops open without the financial buffer needed to ride out lean times, the capital needed to cover payroll for the number of staff actually needed to operate, and the resources required to market said business. Without that investment, areas with a concentration of Black and Brown bodies fall further in decline, making them ripe for acquisition and gentrification.
For me, the cookout represents a safe space for our community. It represents a place for us to gather with one another, without worry or strife. Whether fictional, like Wakanda, or around someone’s actual kitchen table, we need spaces that center our experiences, allow us room to breathe, and provide opportunities to seek sustenance for both our souls and our stomachs. Whether we’re discussing estate plans, meeting a family member’s new romantic partner, or spilling the tea about a delicious bit of church gossip, it all goes down better within the friendly confines of a meal.
This thought process informs my online organizing work with @BlackFoodFridays, the 2024 James Beard Media Award winner for Best Social Media Account. It’s a virtual kitchen table where I use food to bring our people together. I use this space to alert people to a chef they may not have heard of a restaurant they need to try, a consumer-packaged good they should have in their pantry, or highlight our historic contributions to food that have gone unheralded. More importantly, I use this platform to get more people to support Black-owned food and beverage businesses and to promote innovation within the Black food space silently. This “expansion” part of my work is important because it’s important that we collectively work on expanding our horizons on what is or is not “Black food.” We are making award-winning spirits out of hibiscus and sweet potatoes, leading Michelin-starred kitchens, opening restaurants in airports, and running successful urban farms in major cities across the country. So yes, the cookout is a place we can go to play spades and do the Electric Slide, but it’s also a safe space for us to explore what our food can be.
For centuries, food has been weaponized against us. Our ancestors were forced to toil colonized lands from sun-up to sundown, only giving them the bare minimum calories needed to stay alive, and our communities were subjected to the harsh realities of food apartheid. There are hundreds of examples of food being used to maintain order in the American caste system. It’s something Psyche A. Williams-Forson talks about extensively in her award-winning book, “Eating While Black,” My protection of the cookout is not just about fighting against stereotypes or racist food policies; it’s about maintaining a safe space for us to showcase what we bring to the table in both a proverbial and literal sense. From our ancestors making delicious meals out of meager rations to contemporary cooks taking foods that aren’t historically ours–like potato salad or chicken and waffles–and making them in such a delicious way that they become symbols of Black cuisine, we need room to do our thing. The cookout is where that magic happens.
But I can’t defend the cookout, or any of our Black-owned restaurants, by my lonesome. It will take a concerted effort, by all of us, to keep watch over these sacred spaces. Protecting the honor of the fictional cookout is fairly easy: don’t let anyone who isn’t Black, cross that precious threshold. I don’t care how many Kendrick Lamar songs they know by heart. As for the protection and preservation of our real-world spots, that’s going to take a bit more effort. We must be diligent about spending money at establishments owned by our brothers and sisters. We need to spread the word about the places we enjoy to our friends and family. And yes, even take the time to leave positive reviews on restaurant review sites like EatOkra, Yelp, and Zagat.
Black liberation shouldn’t just be about freedom from suffering, it should also include joy! Where is there more joy in our community than a food-centric gathering? To me, the cookout represents the best of what can be, and because of that, it’s worth not just preserving but also defending.