As a part of Harris Public Policy’s celebration of Black History Month, we asked what Black joy means to members of the Harris Community. These are their opinions and perspectives, informed by their own life experiences and worldviews (and do not necessarily reflect the views of Harris).

Kamillia Forbes
Kamillia Forbes, MPP'23

Black joy is a feeling that needs to be prioritized at all costs. The way I experience joy is strongly influenced by my dichotomous background: I am from Brooklyn, New York, but also the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio.

In my predominately Caribbean American neighborhood of Canarsie in Brooklyn, New York, all of my feelings of joy were closely tied to feelings of safety, security, and acceptance. Whether it was spontaneously breaking out into song and/or piano for my family and parents' friends, or reciting the story of Ruby Bridges from memory, I was unapologetically able to embrace myself, nappy hair and Jamaican accent and all. Thankfully, my parents were able to masterfully curate a close-knit community of those who loved me. Even though the pressures of urban life constantly knocked at my parents’ door, my parents, in tandem with the community they made, provided me with a sense of escapist joy, closely tied to safety and security: an unbridled version of joy. 

However, the sudden change in my dad’s job moved my parents and me to the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio. Living in a predominantly white area, at the start of fourth grade, I realized just how fleeting joy could be. The way I experienced joy was now tied to whiteness and heavily influenced by the norms of my new “community.” From the first day of fourth grade, it became obvious that I was the “wrong” kind of Black, and as young as I was, I knew that necessary adjustments had to be made if I wanted to fit in. After the initial shock, every change became easier than the last. While my parents did their absolute best to allow me to be my authentic self at home, school was most of my day. Within the span of three years, I lost my Jamaican accent, gained an unwanted abbreviation of my name, and started playing the violin. For a while, I thought those “changes,” including the unwanted ones, brought me joy; in reality, I was just experiencing fleeting moments of happiness, all temporary. By high school, all of those “changes'' turned me into someone who was unrecognizable, unmotivated, and mentally tired. In lieu of recreating unbridled joy, everything that made me authentic was being oppressed. 

I find myself constantly trying to chase the feeling of unbridled joy. That feeling of safety and security, a true sense of community, allowed me to thrive and develop. As a policy student, it's easy to mask and place the need to find and experience joy on the back burner, as a Black policy student it is ten times worse. Living in a society where factors outside our control inhibit Black people from experiencing joy, the need to protect the feeling is of utmost importance. White supremacy and the onslaught of microaggressive policies and practices, not only limit our quality of life but life itself. This is why I strive to achieve joy because for me, it's vital. 

In prioritizing joy, I’ve realized that in the midst of oppression and death, I need to take up space for joyful activities. Even if it's as mundane as painting my nails and doing my hair, or as imperative as the way I choose to consume news, I’m choosing to create boundaries in my life to protect and prioritize finding joy. While I can't go back to those moments and the specific community I had when I was a small child in Brooklyn, in conjunction with these personal boundaries I’ve set, I am constantly curating my community to provide safety, security, and authenticity for myself.

Joy needs to be prioritized, it needs to be protected, nourished, and spread. Black joy is meant to be experienced by all Black people, and it should be long-lasting and life-sustaining. 

About Kamillia Forbes

Kamillia Forbes, MPP Class of 2023, is Co-President of the Harris Student Government.