Writing Biz

We Were Never Meant to Be Silent

BY ERYKA PARKER

We Were Never Meant to Be Silent: Celebrating Our Legacy, Preserving Our Power

We come from a lineage of brilliance. Of builders, believers, rebels, trailblazers, inventors, and record-keepers. Generation upon generation of our ancestors have risked everything for the right to learn, to speak and to be heard. Today, we walk into rooms they were never allowed to enter while speaking truths they were once punished for even thinking. That is no small thing—it is the beauty of our inheritance spreading out in front of us, showcasing endless paths of possibilities. It is our privilege and our responsibility.

While others are determined to erase, ignore and silence us, we’re not waiting for permission to speak or forgiveness for the sting of our hard truths. We are simply here to preserve our stories and create new ones. To celebrate our communities and create spaces for our voices to ring out. Loudly. Unapologetically. And authentically.

Legacy Echoing in the Strong Silence of Resistance

The act of reading was once criminal for us. Writing cost them their lives. And still, they risked everything to pass down our stories—through whispered songs, coded quilts, and oral histories told under the twinkling stars and slivers of moonlight. We were never meant to survive a system built to erase us, yet we did more than survive. We thrived every chance we got.

From the early Black newspapers and the Harlem Renaissance to Toni Morrison’s golden pen of prose and Octavia Butler’s visions of the future, every word written by and for us has been a declaration that we are here. That legacy is not just the result of a well-executed history—it’s fuel.

The New Silencing

Today, the threats look different. They’re not as bold as Jim Crow or as subtle as academic erasure of our history. DEI programs have been quietly removed. Black-authored books are continually banned from school shelves. Corporate statements nod to inclusion while simultaneously cutting funding for equity. We’re told to be neutral, to be patient, to be quiet. But neutrality has never protected us. And silence has darn sure never saved us.

These erasures are not accidental—they are intentional acts of control. When we are denied access to our stories, we are denied access to the full impact of our power. The stories we tell are not just entertaining and informative. They are maps. Mirrors. Memories. And when we stop telling them, one by one, we all begin to disappear.

Owning the Narrative

But there’s one truth they tend to forget: we don’t need a seat at anyone’s table when we’ve been building our own for generations. Our social role—as descendants bearing names and talents of greatness, creatives armed with tools to tell their stories, and culture-keepers fighting to keep our heritage alive—is not to beg for inclusion, but to cultivate liberation.

Each day, we publish our books through Black-owned presses. Launch our podcasts. Start our own schools, and tell our collective stories with pride and accuracy. Literary magazines like this one is table well built for communities to come and break bread, share powerful stories, and create new ones. We amplify our own wins, bask in our God-given joy, and hold space for one another even when the world refuses to. That’s the magic of our power.

Every time you write your truth, teach a child where they come from, pass a story down—whether in a book, a barbershop, or around a kitchen table—you’re doing sacred work. You’re refusing to let them rewrite us. You’re protecting our sacred truths.

Our Inheritance, Our Responsibility

We are the realization of our ancestors’ “most wildest,” most radical dreams. But we’re also the innovative architects of our future generations’ freedom. We cannot remain silent. Our social roles require us to speak up. It’s our duty to write, to protest, to remember—and to keep going, even when it’s inconvenient.

We’re done waiting for permission. We’re through demanding that platforms be handed to us. We’re making our own. Telling our stories. Telling our people’s stories. Making room for others to do the same. There’s more respect, power, and pride in community storytelling than any corporate mission statement.

We were never meant to be silent. And as long as we remember exactly who and whose we are and where we come from—we never will be

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Eryka Parker
Founder, Legacy Book Coaching & Consulting

eryka@lyricalinnovationsllc.com ­  www.legacybookcoaching.com