They not Like Us…All Skinfolk Ain’t Kinfolk

From Kendrick Lamar’s "Not Like Us" to Zora Neale Hurston’s timeless words, "All skinfolk ain’t kinfolk," the recent actions of City Councilors Byron Hickey (District 1) and Toyia Tucker (District 4) serve as a stark reminder: sharing the same skin color does not guarantee shared values, loyalty or ethical standards.

Their choices reflect a troubling disconnect from the people they were elected to serve—a breach of trust, respect and responsibility to their constituents.

In our collective pursuit to "move on up to the east side," some among us have lost their identity and righteous indignation, trading community consciousness for comfort. We forget that it "took a whole lot of trying just to get up that hill," and now that some are "up in the big leagues, getting their turn at bat," they have abandoned the very people who helped them rise.

For the sake of material success—the good job, the money, the cars, the nice home—some have become unrecognizable, aliens to their own community, and valued more by White society than by the people they represent.

History has shown that while many White allies have stood beside us in our struggle, some Black individuals have instead chosen to uphold and protect White comfort over Black liberation.

Lest there be any confusion, let’s be clear:

• When Black leaders accept money from White interests in exchange for influence over their own people, they prove that all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When so-called grassroots Black organizers are handpicked by White institutions yet wield no real power, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When Black elected officials only engage with their constituents during election season, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When multimillion-dollar Black churches—funded by Black dollars—are designed and built by White firms, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When Black individuals, raised in the Black church, suddenly flock to White congregations believing they’ve found something better, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When self-proclaimed Black activists become more concerned with photo ops and personal gain than community uplift, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When White political players manipulate Black egos for their own agendas, only to discard them when they’re no longer useful, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.
• When a lone Black figure sits in a room full of White decision-makers, silent while policies affecting Black lives are made—indeed, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.

The irony, however, is that despite it all—despite betrayal, neglect and abandonment—our community remains a forgiving one. Even when you have turned your back on us, when you have risen high and fallen low, when "they" no longer have use for you, we still leave the porch light on.

Like the prodigal son, you will always find a way back home. And when you do, we’ll have a fried bologna sandwich and a glass of red Kool-Aid waiting on the kitchen table.