Watch For The Fine Print

I passed these signs all the time…big bold letters, screaming “ALL are welcome here.” And every time I see something like this, I pause. Not because it inspires me, but because I’ve learned to be skeptical of the need to project something that, if it were real, wouldn’t need to be advertised.

You see, inclusion isn’t supposed to be a campaign. It isn’t supposed to be a curated list of buzzwords to make people feel good about themselves. It’s supposed to be the air you breathe, the soil you plant in, the rhythm you move by. It’s supposed to be so ingrained in your philosophy, your mindset, your practices, that no sign needs to announce it.

But I’ve lived enough, and I’ve done enough work, to know better. I’ve seen how quickly those same people who parade inclusion will turn around and other you when you don’t fit neatly into their expectations.

I’ve been Black long enough to know what that looks like. And yet, when I refused to be boxed into the groupthink of Black Lives Matter, when I dared to think independently, they tried to strip away the very identity they claimed to protect. They have circled my work, my voice, my freedom, as if my refusal to conform somehow made me less Black. That’s the profoundly unthinkable part: how quickly inclusion becomes exclusion when you don’t fit the mold.

And it’s not just politics or movements. I’ve seen Christians who preach love, peace, and kindness turn their faith into organized madness. I’ve seen them mobilize armies of “saviors” against me because of witches, demons, and every ghostly enemy they can conjure, while ignoring the contradictions in their own sky-high promises. What’s more offensive to them isn’t that I walked away it’s that I walked away unapologetically. It’s that I didn’t ask for their redemption. To them, my rejection of their system is worse than any sin. And the love, peace, and kindness they boast about? That vanishes. I’m no longer a neighbor, I’m an enemy. But if I surrender, if I bend, if I turn my life back over to their beliefs, suddenly I’m “redeemed.” That isn’t unconditional love that’s coercion. That’s spiritual barbarism dressed up as salvation.

And then there’s politics. The left, the right—they’ll go to war against each other every election cycle, swearing the system is broken, swearing their leaders are corrupt. But step outside of their binary, exercise your freedom in a way they don’t approve of and suddenly they’re united. Suddenly, their nationalism has room for everyone except the free Black man who won’t play by their script. That’s when the constitution they claim to love becomes strangely negotiable.

I’ve seen it everywhere. The same contradiction, over and over. And the truth is I could keep listing examples, because I’ve lived them. I’ve been invited into spaces only to be pushed back out when my freedom spoke louder than their comfort. I’ve been othered by people who say “all are welcome.”

But here’s where it shifts for me. In all of this, I’ve realized something: I’ve become a unifying force. Not because I’m trying to be, but because freedom has a way of pulling people in even people who don’t agree with me, even people who don’t like me. My work, my voice, my way of living free it draws in people from every walk of life, and in that strange, uncomfortable collision, something powerful happens. They’re confronted with freedom, and whether they like it or not, they have to decide where they stand.

And so I’ve made my choice. I will keep living free. I will keep living in my freedom. I will keep speaking, writing, creating, not just to claim my own space, but to free others to do the same. Because that’s the essence of it all: you live free, or you don’t live at all.

And if living free long enough means I become the villain in somebody else’s story, I’ll wear that. Because my life and my freedom are worth the cost. Every single time.

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