If you focus on Kendrick, you'll miss the point.

And this moment is for you.

The most nostalgic words from summer 2024 for me are: Kendrick dropped…again! Those few weeks of The Battle between Kendrick Lamar and you-know-who created pure pandemonium and delight, depending on who you ask. Kendrick later gave us the Pop Off Show which only increased the hunger for more. It’s no surprise that so many of us turned our TVs and our Tubi apps on to watch him do it again for the world to see. 

Kendrick Lamar, Super Bowl Halftime Show. Photo Credit: Harper’s Bazaar

As expected, Kendrick Lamar gave quite the performance. By now, you’ve probably seen it. American flags, dancers in red, white, and blue, Samuel L. Jackson playing the role of Uncle Sam. It included a myriad of motifs of Black men and Black masculinity that I won’t unpack here. It’s been a little over 24 hours and the dissections, theories, celebrations, and criticisms have been flying all over the Internet. What I want to draw your attention to is what I saw communicated in several Bluesky posts (because ya girl has been freed from the shackles of the shawty formerly known as Twitter)--that this was the most epic or legendary Black History Month that we’ve had in a long time. And they were crediting this to Doechii, Beyonce, and Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy wins followed by K.Dot’s Super Bowl Halftime Show. 

Honestly, that thought made me sad. Made me wonder, what about us? And what does it mean when we mark the success that other people are having as the determining factor and pinnacle of epic or legendary art?

I think about creatives most in this moment. On one hand, many people are likely inspired by the work of Kendrick Lamar, Beyonce, and countless other Black artists and thinkers and  musicians and so on.  And then I think about how many of us look at those same celebrities and  measure ourselves up against them, against their talent, against their opportunities, against their privilege, against their bodies, against their wealth, and use that as a way to judge ourselves harshly, to be critical, and to doubt our own brilliance and beauty. 

I shared this with a client today, that often when we witness people in their power or most creative energy, we get to choose a couple of ways to respond. Do you choose to rise in your own power and shine alongside them or do you choose to back off, sit down, clap for them when you KNOW in your BONES you want to be intimately acquainted with your creative divinity too.

Or maybe you don’t know. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Maybe you question your own significance and your own art and if it’ll receive the same praise you offer to others.

My favorite part of the night. Zül-Qarnain Nantambu, a performer at the halftime show, waved a double flag representing Sudan and Palestine. Photo Credit: Al-Jazeera

After reading post after post sharing these sentiments, I start hearing that old 70s Boris Gardiner song, Every Nigger is a Star. That's my jam, y'all. And I played it on repeat. Not only is it just an amazing song from the 70s, but it carries this message that every single one of us is necessary.

Crucial.

Fundamental.

Paramount.

Essential.

Vital.

And to take it even further,

Care of Erotics of Liberation posits, “Why be a star when you could be a constellation?”

A constellation is “any of various groups of stars to which definite names have been given.” Meaning that each star is so significant that it has its own name and identity and characteristics which, I’d say, is how it thrives amongst the other stars in the heavens. 

When people talk about divesting from celebrity culture, that’s essentially reorienting how we perceive ourselves and how we perceive them. Maybe we don't have to see them as stars by themselves where our only role is to be their audience that ooh’s and ah’s. Because what if every nigga’s a star? What if we're a constellation together? 

Photo by Adrian Pelletier on Unsplash

If we do consider that, then we would automatically include ourselves in the story of why Black History Month is legendary. We won't be on the sidelines. We won't be just watching the Grammys or the Super Bowl Halftime Show. No, we'll be humming and believing that Every Nigga's a Star… when we wake up in the morning; when we put pen to paper; when we make art; when we compose music; when we paint colorful strokes on a blank canvas; when we have meaningful conversations and even when we’re just cutting up with the homies; when we’re meditating and connecting to our Ancestors; when we’re dancing; when we’re challenging and dismantling empire inside and around us; when we are loving and teaching the children; when we are feeding and taking care of ourselves and our neighbors; when we're resting; when we're having sex; when we are holding the hands or looking into the eyes of a significant other; when we're laughing with our best friend. All of this is already enough to qualify a legendary Black History Month. 

I’m genuinely happy for these artists and I won’t speak for you. But Kendrick having a great performance and Beyonce and Doechii winning their Grammys hasn't changed my life. But, you know what has impacted my life this month? 

A dear, lovely Hoodoo sibling emailing me to share [and I’m paraphrasing here]: I had a dream and you were in it. And in the dream, you said words that helped connect dots for me and my future. 

What's changing my life this Black History Month is learning new ways that my ancestors want to work with me. It’s returning to the archive of my life through text messages and voice notes and discovering beautiful gems, spiritual downloads, and funny conversations I’ve had with my sister-friend. It’s rediscovering projects that I laid aside that I've since picked back up, a new commitment that I won’t hide from myself or my gifts anymore. 

It's my friend who dreamed of having a home for years finally getting the keys. It's one of my community members putting out an ask for mutual aid and it getting cleared within a short couple of days. Those things for me have been what has made Black History Month legendary. And honestly, every month that I wake up Black. Every moment when I'm in a relationship with other Black people who care about art, their wellness, our liberation, and their joy and pleasure. 

That is my salvation!

So yeah, I know that we have some favorite celebs, and I’m not mad at it. But we don’t have to give them all our attention or energy that we could be reserving for our own wells of brilliance and the gods within us. 

The way I see it, every nigga is a star.

So, what are you creating in your part of the world and how are you impacting your part of the sky? What is burning brightly inside of you right now?

Art means something. The work of Kendrick, Bey, Doechii, and any others we celebrate–they mean something. But yours means just as much. Your art. Your message. What you contribute? We need that too! And as we continue to create together, this is what makes Black History Month and every month we’re breathing on this earth LEGENDARY.

💌 Jeida