12/23/2024
**WHERE ARE THE PROPHETIC BLACK LEADERS**
OP-ED: Blues According To Brother Yusef
In a world that so often demands answers to the loudest questions, one of the most pressing, though often unspoken, inquiries in the Black community is this: Where are the prophetic leaders? Where are the voices that can cut through the noise, that can stand as pillars of truth and change, much like the Malcolms, the Dr. Kings, the Garveys of yesterday? If we look closely enough, we might see the shadows of such leaders in the distance, but they seem almost out of reach, or worse, as fragmented and incomplete as the communities they are supposed to uplift. If we are honest, we know that the seismic shifts we need—the ones that might alter the trajectory of Black America—seem absent.
Perhaps this absence is by design, the result of a well-oiled machine that has spent decades perfecting the art of neutralizing strong leadership before it ever fully takes form. It is not accidental that the movements that once promised hope, like Black Lives Matter, began with such clarity and vigor only to devolve into disarray. Once a rallying cry for justice, it quickly became a slogan, a hashtag lost in the digital noise. Its leaders, like so many before them, were co-opted, criticized, and, ultimately, left to struggle in a system that thrives on fragmentation. What once had the promise of a unifying force became just another casualty of an unyielding culture that sees strength in dissonance.
Black prophetic leadership—true leadership—seems harder to come by than ever. This is not because it doesn’t exist, but because the circumstances that would allow it to flourish have been systematically dismantled. Where are the fathers, the elders, the sages to guide the youth? Where are the voices that refuse to be co-opted by mainstream agendas or diluted by the allure of celebrity? The history of Black America is rich with leaders who demanded something more from the community, from the world, and from themselves. They did not settle for what was given to them. They carved out space for vision, for justice, for a sense of self-determination. They fought for something bigger than themselves and inspired generations to do the same.
So what happened? Perhaps we should start by acknowledging the elephant in the room: the crack era. Though we may have moved on to other crises and concerns, the damage of that time is still very much present. The drug epidemic swept through disenfranchised Black communities, not only leaving families shattered and lives lost, but also decimating the very structure of the communities that once fostered collective strength. It left a vacuum—of fathers, of leaders, of mentors—and many children were raised in the absence of the very models of strength and stability they needed to thrive. The prison industrial complex that followed, with its mass incarcerations and its dismantling of Black families, further entrenched this void.
It’s hard to be a prophetic leader in an environment where the structures of support are fractured, where the voices of authority and wisdom are often silenced or marginalized. And perhaps that’s the strategy. What better way to ensure the continued stagnation of a people than to erase the voices that once called for transformation? What better way to neutralize a movement than by disempowering those who would lead it? We have witnessed this time and time again, in the erosion of Black leadership through systemic oppression, media manipulation, and the deliberate sidelining of anything that threatens the status quo.
Today, we see this power vacuum still in effect, and the fallout continues to ripple through generations. Black youth—especially those in urban areas—are left wandering in a system that doesn’t provide the tools for navigating the complexities of life. They turn to each other for guidance, which, while a testament to community resilience, also speaks to a lack of direction. There are voices among them, certainly, but too many are unclear, conflicted, or drowned out by the noise of mainstream culture. The larger-than-life personalities of hip-hop artists, who once carried the banner of social consciousness, now also bear the weight of contradictions. For every Tupac or Kendrick Lamar, whose lyrics still echo with the call for justice and self-awareness, there are countless others whose words fuel a consumerist, materialist mentality that only serves to perpetuate the very cycles of oppression they themselves are part of.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? Hip-hop, which began as a radical, unifying force—a voice for the marginalized, for the people—is now a world divided. There is the hip-hop that speaks truth to power, and then there is the hip-hop that profits from glamorizing the very structures of power and oppression it once sought to dismantle. The heroes of the culture are no longer all about knowledge or awakening; they are often about wealth, excess, and the fame that comes with it. This, too, is part of the strategy. The same system that once vilified hip-hop for its revolutionary undertones now embraces it, co-opts it, and commodifies it into something that no longer threatens the status quo.
And still, in this fragmented landscape, there is no grand unifier. No Dr. King with his dreams, no Malcolm X with his calls to action, no Garvey with his global vision of Black empowerment. These figures are a distant memory for some, and an unreachable ideal for others. What remains is a disjointed collection of individuals, some trying to bring change, some trying to survive, and some simply trying to get ahead. We talk about systemic oppression, but we don’t talk enough about how the system is actively working to prevent any coherent, unified response. The strategy is simple: Keep them divided, keep them distracted, and the power remains unchanged.
So what happens next? Perhaps it’s time we reconsider what leadership looks like. Maybe the next prophetic voice won’t come from a single individual, but from the collective actions of many who refuse to let the forces of fragmentation win. Maybe the change we seek doesn’t need to come from one leader, but from the willingness of a community to rebuild itself, piece by piece, through local efforts that honor history, support youth, and provide tangible pathways to opportunity. We may need to rethink our understanding of leadership—one that doesn’t rely on a singular charismatic figure, but on the ability of communities to forge strength together.
The truth is, the Black prophetic leader isn’t entirely gone. They’re just waiting for the right moment to emerge. In a world where disruption is the status quo, we may be looking for the wrong kind of leadership. What we need may not be one man or one woman standing at the forefront, but a collective awakening—a wave of voices, large and small, local and national, that rise above the noise and speak the truth that’s been missing for far too long.
Until then, we’ll keep searching. Keep wondering. And keep hoping that the leaders we need are not as far away as they seem. They’re out there, perhaps not as singular figures, but as part of the very fabric of the community—waiting for the right time to rise.
